Tributes to a Hero
by AerienMyxa
Summary: HP/LV. Character death. After years of sending gifts meant to mock, Voldemort's obsession to kill Harry Potter changed after one night.


**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Harry Potter. They belong to the lady named J.K Rowling.**

**Pairings: HP/LV**

**Warnings: Character Death**

**Enjoy!**

_Love is sometimes denied, _

_sometimes lost, _

_sometimes unrecognized, _

_but in the end, _

_always found with no regrets, _

_forever valued and kept treasured. _

_- Unknown_

**Tributes to a Hero**

The Dark Lord twirled his wand lazily as he stared at the tomb that stood in front of him. With a sigh, he tapped his forehead lightly with his wand – the same wand that killed the boy who now lay in the grave in front of him. Carved on the granite plaque that was planted firmly into head of the grave was this:

_**Harry James Potter**_

_**Born – July 31**__**st**__**, 1980**_

_**Death – November 12**__**th**__**, 1997**_

_**The Boy-Who-Lived**_

_**Greatest Protector of the Wizarding World**_

_**Dearest Friend**_

_**Beloved son of James a**__**nd Lily Potter**_

_**- May his spirit continue to live**_

_**Within the hopes of the people**_

Why was he here again? Ah, yes.

In the past, he had sent a small handmade animal origami to the young supposed hero for his birthday every year, starting from his first year at Hogwarts – the year when he finally managed to procure a substantial body for his soul to inhabit in comfortably.

It was supposed to serve as a mockery, a reminder to the young hero that he was so vulnerable, so fragile like the paper animal; anything could crush his puny stature into pieces, leaving him dead.

Oh, it might not really dampen the hero's courageous spirit, as he had never left a note with the present to inform young Potter of its sender, but at least he had felt he was doing something, instead of desperately clinging onto the last thread of life.

The first year had been a black dog, meant to imitate the mangy dog of his godfather. The second year, he had sent a stag, representing his father. It was followed by a dove, symbolizing his Mudblood of a mother. The fourth year saw a werewolf, a reminder of the honorary werewolf uncle of his.

Till then, it was supposed to mock him. But, when it reached the fifth year, when he finally regained and properly managed his body, everything changed.

Wanting to catch Potter offended or furious expression for his own entertainment, he had purposely left the connection open after he sent the gift over promptly twelve midnight. What he saw surprised him greatly, for instead of a livid and irate Harry Potter, he saw Potter produce the most angelic smile anyone could ever hope to see.

His emerald eyes had sparkled gorgeously with delight, his head tilting slightly to the side, allowing his unruly raven-black hair to frame his thin, delicate face beautifully. His lips twirled up gently, portraying unspoken pleasure. Porcelain skin gleamed in the moonlight that flowed around the space where he stood, bringing out his angelic smile even more. His soul screamed of happiness, of contentment, as he stroked the small paper animal with a soft fondness in his eyes.

That night, Voldemort's obsession changed from taking Potter's life, to making Harry smile like that once more.

He did not know why, perhaps it was because of the fact that he had a bitter childhood, but he was entranced by the joy that young Harry exuded when he received such a simple present.

As usual, he sent another animal origami for his fifth year birthday, a rat, a phoenix for his sixth, and the last, a snake for his seventh.

All good things must come to an end, and Voldemort knew he had to fulfill the prophecy soon – for his own survival. He could still remember the final Hogwarts battle, the battle where blood flooded the school meant for knowledge, the battle where the Dark won.

He could remember when both of their wands raised against each other, enemy against enemy, Light against Dark. The duel had been short, but the ending was definite. With a last incantation, the Cutting Curse blasted from Voldemort's wand, hitting the Boy-Who-Lived. This time round though, the Boy-Who-Lived-Didn't.

And finally, he could remember, the last things the Boy-Who-Lived whispered before he gasped his last.

"_Thank you, for all your presents over the years…"_

_Eyes widened in surprise, and before he knew it, Voldemort choked out, "Y-you knew? And yet you accepted? Y-you were…delighted? Why?"_

"_B-because it was the only t-thing that was constant in m-my life. The only…thi…" Harry trailed off, eyes closing in peace, the last gasp of air escaping him. His lips twisted into the smile he had always loved. However, now it looked dead and hollow. Lifeless. _

_Voldemort could feel his finally-found heart breaking into small pieces. _

* * *

Voldemort stooped down, and placed a paper lion onto the grave. On it, cursive handwriting wrote, 'For you, my lion.'

"You know, my pride and need for survival blinded me. And because of that, I killed my purpose and meaning in life. What is the purpose of living, if I have no more purpose to stay on this world?"

Voldemort let out a bitter smile, allowing his most probably only moment of weakness in his whole life to show through.

A silent whisper conveyed through his soul, pleading for the other in heaven to hear.

"_I love you."_

As he whirled on his heels and left, a glistening tear shined in contrast of the dark brown soil.

**Its a short, random one-shot that popped into my head suddenly. Pardon me if there's mistakes, since I rushed this out, and feel free to point them out. Of course, I would really really love reviews! :)**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


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